The Salted Sepulchre
by Arturo Prendergast
Summary: Just one of the many voices that witnessed the Second Wizarding War and the struggles of the Boy Who Lived.
1. From the Tower's Battlements

FROM THE TOWER'S BATTLEMENTS

I nudged my way through the crowd. Approaching the center of the congregation, the voices dropped from puzzled murmuring to a blanket of stillness that hung in the air. Unable to push aside the shoulders of those transfixed or crying, I peeked between the arms and understood the silence.

My friend appeared in my hindsight.

"He's dead."

I lifted my head, a weak gesture of acknowledgment.

Even the professors were in the same state of shock and disbelief that I had learned to recognize as grief. Professor Slughorn was at the inner edge of the crowd, a pitiful expression on his face. I knew that in his head, he was wondering if there was something he could have done. Beside him, Professor McGonagall looked as stern as ever, but with her eyes shining and her jaw clenched tight. She stooped to whisper something to Slughorn and then strode back into the castle with urgency. Professor Hagrid was still sobbing, now much quieter and in the form of shuddering breaths.

"Students! Students! Please return to your dormitories to report to your Head of House! Please! Go now," Slughorn shouted.

The murmuring grew, and the people in the back began to leave.

"Come on," I told my friend, and took him by the arm. He looked at me blankly, and then we slowly walked back to the common room.


	2. Born Into Magic

**BORN INTO MAGIC**

My finger traced the outline of the mountain in the distance and I dreamt of a great green dragon swooping over the train and plucking my compartment up into the sky, my body found among the others at the base of that mountain when the dragon had relieved its load. I was bitter about leaving my father.

"You'll have so much fun at Hogwarts, and you'll make so many new friends," he had said.

"I don't have any friends now. Not even the Muggle children will play with me. Why would school make a difference?" I looked away from him. "I know everyone hates me."

He closed his eyes and gazed upwards for a moment. My chin was pointed to the floor and my legs swung against the bed. I felt like he was trying to get rid of me.

"Believe me, even if you don't find any new friends-which I highly doubt-you'll still have me to write to about all the fantastic stuff you're doing."

In truth, I was extremely excited about Hogwarts. Incalculably ecstatic. I didn't want to leave my father because I knew how he was when left alone. I knew he stilled missed my mother terribly. Once, I had found him kneeling at her side of the closet, his face in one of her dresses. He stayed like that even as I left. Sometimes, I'd see him gaze out the window to the pier for long minutes, as the faucet's water poured over the dishes. Only when I made a comment about him flooding the kitchen would he wake up from whatever thought he had and resume washing. And I knew that thought was my mother.

I was afraid to leave him because I was afraid of him being gone when I came back. I was afraid that he missed her enough to prematurely end his life in order to be with her.

The compartment was empty. Being alone as a child, I took little notice of this fact and continued dreaming of my grand demise. I guess, in some ways, I too wanted to be with my mother.

The door opened: "Anything from the trolley, dear?"

"Oh. Uh... A pasty, please?"

While giving her my money, I saw the other children through the glassed panes pulling on their school robes, every now and then a roar of laughter coming from a compartment. After eating, I too pulled on my robes and fingered the blank spot where my House insignia would go.

My head was set on Gryffindor, my father's House. I had hoped that I possessed some ounce of bravery, as I couldn't recall any event that gave proof of its existence. I knew I wouldn't be able to settle for Hufflepuff. Yellow wasn't my color, amongst other objections. I had even accepted the idea of being Sorted into Slytherin, and determined that I just wasn't keen enough for Ravenclaw.

The land outside the window was all pitch, but I pressed my face against the window anyway. I knew I was being allowed a grand entry into the world I had always wanted to be in the thick of. Knowing that being a wizard had kept me hopeful throughout my years of solitude. The thought of a world of magic, a world where the impossible is the everyday, and the thought that I was allowed to be a part of it kept me from condemning the village children for casting me off. They would never know magic the way I did-and I pitied them for it.

In whole, I was grateful that I had been born into magic.


End file.
